Vlindrel:Barlowe's Crash Course in Combat
---- ---- ---- Tate: He's sitting in his room, eating some kind of small chicken-like bird with a big side of mashed potatoes and gravy. You know, I bet Ahiga and Caspian are out there eating bugs and dirty roots, while I'm stuck here- He pokes his fork into the chicken and it's so juicy and well-cooked that oils flow out from around his fork and as he pulls the chunk off of it to eat, delicious smelling steam rises from the inside. -eating this. Loki runs up and jumps on the plate and grabs one of the chicken legs in his mouth and jumps off, biting into it and eating it. Hey! He gulps. When I asked if you wanted anything you said no! Loki turns and sticks his tongue out at Tate. Tate eats a few more bites before he's full, not even eating half of what he had made. He wipes his mouth a bit and stands up. Alright, let's sneak down the hall and check out what that ghost was doing. He gets up and walks out of his room and into the hallway, Loki follows after him quickly, carrying the small drumstick in his mouth. Tate steps out into the hall and looks around, half expecting Morganstern to be out here waiting for him. The hall is empty and quiet. Tate: He turns and runs down the hallway to the wall at the end. He looks it over. Keep watch Loki. The little ferret turns and looks around, pulling small chunks off of his chicken and shoving them into his mouth without looking at them. ...What's that word he said? He slowly presses his hand to the center of the wall. ...Ver... Eh-tee? Nothing happens to the wall. Tate: ...No... He looks the wall over. That wasn't it, he kinda said it with an old accent... He takes a breath and speaks it again, with a stronger tone. Ver-EE-tey. The wall turns translucent and then fades away, revealing the old passage Tate saw earlier. Old candles alone the walls suddenly spark with white flames, dimly lighting the long hall, which runs down at an incline for at least a hundred yards. Tate: He looks at it for a moment, then looks back to Loki. Let's go. He turns and starts walking down the hall. Unlike the rest of the estate that Tate has seen thus far, this hallway is obviously old and unkempt, though it looks like it was ornate at one point, with the brickwork being complex and impressive despite the dilapitated and ruined appearance is had now. Tate: How big do you think this place is? He looks at the walls, feeling like this is more of a tunnel that's going down into the earth than a hallway in some big mansion or castle. Loki is sitting on his shoulder, and lets out a quiet squeak in response. ...Yeah... Definitely at least as big as Chris's house... He looks down and remembers how Chris turned into that creature and threw them down here. It was only a few days ago, but seems like it's been so much longer than that. ...How long have we even been here? ...Three... Four days? He sighs and looks ahead. Guess it doesn't matter. All that matters is that we're getting the fuck outta this place. He starts to move down the stairs more quickly. Tate reaches the end of the hallway and it opens up into a large extravagant room, and though it looks like it was once impressive in the very distant past, as it is now it's a wreck. Much of the furniture is rotted and in falling apart. A few more candles flicker on, along with a large bronze chandelier above Tate, which illuminates the room much more clearly. Along the walls are crumbling stone statues, each appears almost like something from ancient greece and stands at nearly six feet tall, both male and female alike. Most of them look like they've aged poorly, and they're missing limbs or have toppled to the ground. Tate: ...The hell is this place? He looks at the large statues that line the walls as he walks through the room. An old man's voice suddenly responds from a pile of rubble in the corner. This ramshackle room is what remains of my personal chambers. A glowing blue eye appears in the rubble, and it begins to move forwards. I am Professor Barlowe. An old man in a wheel chair rolls into the light, one of the large statues is animated and pushing his chair. Both the man and the statue looks like they've seen better days, with the old man having a huge scraggly beard, and the statue missing its head and having crumbling joints. A single blue flicker of light hovers where the statue's head should be. It's been a long time since I've had a guest. Tate: He narrows his eyes, looking at the old man, then to the statue. Were you the guy I saw earlier? He looks back to the old man. In my astral projection? Barlowe: Indeed I was. He lets out a gruff weeze and clears his throat. Tate: Your projection looked a lot more clean cut... Just saying. He raises an eyebrow at the old man. Barlowe: He lets out a wheezing chuckle. Well my astral body has fared better then my physical one... Tate: Why are you down here? I thought Morganstern said no one else was around. He looks at the old man suspisciously. Are you gonna lock me down here so you can teach me shit too? Barlowe: You get right to the chase, skipping pleasantries. He leans back in his chair, wheezing again. I sequestered myself down here a long time ago, away from Morganstern. It's been so long now that I'd wager that thing has forgotten I even exist at all... And no, I won't keep you here against your will. Tate: ...Well that's good to hear... He looks to the side. ...Morganstern definately seems to be absent minded... Or psychotic... Or both... Also, is it a guy or a girl? And what the hell is its deal anyway? Why the fuck's it keeping me here? Barlowe: He pauses, stroking his beard a bit as he thinks. Morganstern is a complicated matter. I'm not sure a young man like you would care to listen to its story. Tate: He crosses his arms over his chest. Try me. Barlowe: To explain Morganstern, I must explain some other things... He waves his hand to the statue. Move me to table so we can sit. The statue pushes him to an old dining table made of marble and then walks around and pulls out a chair for Tate to sit before returning to the other side and standing behind the old man once more. Tate: He walks over to the table, looking around a bit, then sits down. Barlowe: You see, when a headmaster of Aurelion retires, he, or she, undergoes a ritual process by which a long bronzed spine, what we call a "Sliver"- He reaches up behind his neck. -is thrust into the back of their head, at the base of the skull, and up into their biological mental faculties... Once implanted, the Headmaster will pour the knowledge and experience they believe will help their successor. Then it is removed. He leans forwards onto the table and wheezes quietly again. This went on for a very long time... So you see, there's tens of thousands of these Slivers... Tate: ...I don't understand... Is Morganstern... Somehow the result of those Slivers? He's not really sure what the point of this explanation is. Barlowe: It is the culmination of them, yes. He waves his statue away. Get me the eau de vie from the shelf in the kitchen. The golem moves out of the room, it's heavy footfalls making quiet thumps on the stone as it leaves and walks through a door. Apologies, I haven't spoken to anyone much in ages- He looks to the door that the golem passed through and after a moment the statue walks back through with a copper platter, a large black cube-shaped bottle on it along with two glasses. Barlowe grabs the bottle and fills the two glasses with a dark golden liquid. I trust that you partake in spirits? Youth besides, you seem like the type that might wet his pallet with such things. He looks to Tate, his old grey eyes peering at him across the table. Tate: I've been known to drink when I have drinks offered. He reaches out and opens his hand, flicking his wrist a little as he does it. The glass is pulled across the table, sliding towards him and into his open hand. What is this, scotch or something? Barlowe: Eh? He takes a sip and weezes suddenly, coughing once. It's a glib tonic, helps keep me from losing my voice, and makes speaking easier. Tate: It's not going to make me sick is it? He looks at the golden liquid as he holds it in front of him. Barlowe: Just don't drink it too quickly or you won't be able to stop talking. He clears his throat and takes another sip. Tate: He takes a sip and suddenly coughs a bit. Damn that kinda burns! He coughs again and wipes his mouth. ...Tastes like... I don't know... He coughs again, then looks at the glass before setting it down. Man, you know how I know you're a teacher? He looks to the old man. Because I asked a question and you've somehow turned it into a history lesson. He smirks a little. Barlowe: You said you wanted the story, my boy, and I told you it would be an undertaking to explain it! He wheezes a little and coughs quietly. Tate: ...Alright, alright... So what happened? He looks to Loki, the little ferret is sniffing at the edge of Tate's glass and Tate quickly pulls it away from him. Barlowe: As you may have noticed, this world began to die, and many kingdoms did anything they thought would hold back its withering... All of them failed, of course, and when the kingdoms of old began to fall to ruin, many of their monarchs looked to the power of Aurelion's witches for answers. At the time the Headmistress of Aurelion was a woman named Morgan. Young for a Headmistress, she lacked much of the staunch confidence and wisdom of earlier Headmasters. You see by this time, there were tens of thousands of those Splinters, and many of them were so old that using them had become dangerous... But the various Kingdoms of Old pressured the demure Headmistress, and the stress and expectation weighed heavily on her. Despite the risk, she needed answers. Tate: So she went looking through the Spliters... He leans back. Barlowe: Yes, indeed. He takes another small sip. But tens of thousands of headmasters had come and gone over the great span of this school's existence, and so too did the Splinters rival that number. Finding the Splinter which held the knowledge needed would be nearly impossible... So the story goes that Headmistress Morgan searched and searched for months... He weezes a little, though his voice is obviously getting stronger from the drink. But the constant badgering of the Old Kings and Queens, in addition to the withering of our world, drove her to farther and farther lengths to find the answers they all sought... He pauses, in a moment of silence. There is an old and forbidden ritual, one that is of fiendish repute... It is called Vier-min-siulng... It fuses the intrinsic existence of multiple things into a single whole... Anything, even impossible amalgams can be made real... Water and fire, moonlight and animal... Even man and demon... The spell is said to be one the Gods used to build the world, and in that almighty way, it cares not whether the fusion is possible, it simply makes it so... In her desperation, Morgan lay upon a bed made of all the Splinters she could find, and through that ritual did she merge herself into them. He stares at the table. And so the Headmistress was no more, and in her place became the towering creature that called itself "Morganstern". He takes another sip of his drink. Tate: ...So the ritual failed then? At least that's what I'm guessing considering that everywhere I've been in this world is a ruin, a dump, or both, and Morganstern is a psycho with Alzheimers... Barlowe: His old eyes dart to Tate. On the contrary my boy, it succeeded quite well. He leans back. Morganstern was terrifyingly brilliant and through it's council were Kingdoms able to thrive anew, even in spite of their dying lands. Even the Keepers of the Holy Flame acknowledged that we would last another age, though they seemed reluctant to it... But it was not to last. Even the most powerful Magic cannot hold back the ebbing of the tides of fate... This plane is a corpse... In all but name... An ancient animal that wishes to die, but has been kept from its wants by the artificial machinations of humanity... He weezes and looks to his glass. Even Morganstern must realize this age will end... Which is likely why it so fervently seeks a student to pass on its knowledge... Tate: He looks down at the glass of golden liquid. ...So this world's... I mean it's just... Dying? How does that even happen? My world is like, three billion years old or something, and it's still kick'n just fine. Barlowe: I would think that this place is much older than that, but I cannot know for certain. He drinks down the last bit of the golden liquid in his drink. So many kingdoms have risen and fallen, mankind's history is an overflowing privy, piled with whatever shit the Kings and Queens of their time declared it would be. He sets his glass on the table. Some say we offended the Gods, and strayed from our path... But no one knows for certain, save maybe the first monarchs of old, if they ever even existed at all. He lets out a solemn wheezing sigh as he looks to his empty glass. If you ask me, the world's just run its course, and we are simply the last flickers of life, damned to persist and watch it die a slow death... Tate: ...But if she's so smart... Why's she such a scattered... Wreck? She fumbles her worlds, can barely remember lessons... He shrugs a little. Barlowe: It's extremely old. Far older than I am... All of what I've told you happened well before I even attended classes here. He taps the edge of his glass with his finger. Its mind is a cluster of thoughts from countless witches from countless ages... And the long aeons have taken their toll on it... Tate: So are we... I mean us Witches, are we immortal? Barlowe: Hardly. He laughs a bit. Do I look immortal to you? He raises a bushy eyebrow at Tate. We just live as long as we can, and if we desire we use magic to extend our lifespan longer. Morganstern is different, however... That thing is an unnatural fusion of blackened bronze and human life... Who knows how long it can last, or how old it really is. Tate: He thinks for a moment. ...So I'm guessing that you didn't bring me down here to tell me all this. He looks from the glass to Barlowe. Barlowe: No, I didn't, of course. He leans forwards and onto the table. When I worked here as a professor, I trained students in combat. Tate: His ears almost seem to perk up and his eyes dart to the old man. Combat magic? That's the whole reason I even ended up here, I wanted to learn how to fight. He smiles a little. Barlowe: Of course... Noxalas doesn't just choose students at random. They must desire to attend classes here... In days long passed the little thing was more discerning, but in these dying days, I doubt there are many newborns at all, let alone anyone with the capacity for magic... Though being from another world, I suppose your home must have families of them. Tate: My sister was a witch... More powerful than me... I spent the better part of last year trying to learn her magic from notes she'd left behind after she... Died... He pauses in thought. Morganstern said it's because I doubt my own power. Barlowe: If you doubt your power, you give power to your doubts... What kind of magic did your sister practice? Tate: All kinds of stuff, but her main thing in combat seemed to be conjuring shadowflame. He takes a swig of the golden liquid and winces a little, not used to hard liquor. Barlowe: A merging of elements is not an easy feet... But I sense within you darkness... Though I think you lack the capacity for fire. He scratches at his beard. Tate: I'm supposed to be attuned to water or something. It's a garbage element. He rolls his eyes and looks away. All I can do is swim fast and peg people with all the danger of a squirt gun. Last year I had to fight a big monster guy, all I did was pelt it with water. I could've probably just picked up some rocks and done the same damage just throwing them at him... Barlowe: He lets out a chuckle. I see now that Morganstern is right. You doubt your own abilities so thoroughly that you are keeping yourself from getting stronger. Come with me, we might as well get you started since this is a subject you're interested in. He motions behind him, and his statue pulls out his wheel chair from under the table and starts pushing it towards a large black door. Barlow waves his hand to the side and the locks on the door strain as they open for the first time in ages. The door slides open to reveal a well-kept room that looks like a cross between a library and an armor. Various weapons and books, some with glowing magical inscriptions, sit behind enchanted glass. When I sequestered myself here I brought most of Aurelion's arsenal down here with me. He's wheeled into the center of the room, and the statue turns him around to look at Tate. Unfortunately it would take a lifetime of training and knowledge to learn much of what's in here, so we will just have to stick to basics for now. So are you ready to learn how to fight? If you are, we're going to cover a lot of ground tonight. Tate: Hell yeah I'm ready. This is the shit I've been waiting for... This is all combat magic? He looks around at the large collection of tomes and artifacts. And these weapons, witches can use them? Barlowe: Witches can pick up spears and swords and use them, yes. He laughs quietly. At least when they're not as old as I. His golem pushes him over to a glass display case. As you've probably figured out by now, I've been listening in on your lessons with Morganstern. When you expressed in interest in combat, I thought I'd try to contact you in a way that it wouldn't notice. Tate: Morganstern can't see Astral Projections? He looks to Barlowe. It saw mine just fine. Barlowe: Oh it can see them as clearly as it sees anything else, but as a Professor of combat training, I specialized in a great deal of counter-magic, shielding myself from astral detection being is a small part of that. He opens the case, taking out a small handbook. Morganstern is focused on teaching the bone-and-knuckle basics, things that take a great deal of time to learn, but will reap the greatest skill and acumen in the future. He turns and holds the book out to Tate. That method of tutoring has it's place, but I do not think you want to spend a lifetime here, so we're going to take a few shortcuts and jump into practical combat applications. Simply things to get you started on a path to a better understand of how you can fight. Tate: All of this sounds fan-fucking-tastic to me... So what's this then? He walks up and takes the book. Like the cliff notes version? He opens the book and looks through it. Barlowe: All of the pages in the book are blank. A spellbook, for you to record notes on spells, and to store pages you find here, I'll explain it in a bit, just hold onto it for now. He motions to one of the glass cabinets and his golem walks over to it. I saw that you telekinetically pulled your glass of spirits to you earlier, and you've been able to astral project and divination without a wand, do you know wandless magic? Tate: Kinda? He looks up from the book and puts it into his pocket. I lost my wand when I fell into this place -This world I mean. He looks to the glass case. But, before coming here I couldn't do anything without it. He shrugs. Now I... Sorta can... It's still more difficult. Barlowe: I would surmise that Morganstern's teaching of pushing mana into your fingertips has reduced your need for it. The golem grabs a gnarled white wooden staff from the cabinet and holds it so Barlowe can get a better look at it. No-not the staff, get the chakram there next to it. He turns and looks to Tate and clacks something on his chair. A long brass cane folds out of his armrest and into his hand. Let's see what you can do without a wand. Barlowe clacks the head of his cane against the floor several times, and a loud whirring of gears and ringing of chains starts up. The cabinets and display cases all turn and rotate, folding into flat brass panels in the walls or descending into the floor and turning into large white and black tiles, leaving an almost empty open space that has the appearance of a chess board. Please move there and we'll being your first lesson. He points his cane to a square that glows with a dim blue rune. Tate: He seems almost intimidated by how the room just effortlessly folded into a sparring arena. ...Uhh... Sure. He walks over to the spot and looks around, not sure what to expect. Barlowe: He taps his cane on the floor again. Knight to D-8. The tile on the other side of the checkered floor glows white and the tall marble statue of a Knight rises up into place. Whenever you're ready. Tate: He looks to Loki for a moment. Loki lets out a squeak and points at the knight, then Tate looks to the knight. He raises his hands, letting out a steady breath. Mana to fingertips... His fingers start to glow with a dim light and he smirks. ...Conjure bolts of water, just like with the wand- Twin blasts of glowing water bolts fly from his hands with a dull "thwoomp" and slam into the statue, exploding into splashes of water on impact. Fuck yeah... Barlowe: Very good. Despite our mutual dislike of the thing, Morganstern has taught you quite well already. It will come in handy, should you ever lose your catalyst. He weezes and motions to Tate. The golem walks around Barlow, a polished black octagonal ring with a silvery edge and a pair of short black fingerless gloves in its hand. This weapon is a Rajani Chakram. It was used by the marauders of Rajakhan, a sea fairing kingdom far to the east. The golem holds the weapon out to Tate. It is made from chasm-fused steel, and is enchanted to fly effortlessly despite its weight. These gloves are woven from enchanted bonespider's silk, and while you wear them, the chakram will never cut your palms, nor will much else for that matter, and it will always return to you when thrown. Tate: He takes the gloves and pulls them on. They're a bit snug. He looks his hands over. I have gloves like this back at home. I got those from a gas station though, so they're cheap shit compared to these. He takes the chakram and looks it over too. I guess I better start practicing my warrior princess warcry, huh? He smirks and flips it in his hands like a Frisbee. So are you going to teach me how to use this? Barlowe: I'll give you some tips, but you'll have to figure much of it out on your own. He weezes and coughs a little. I don't think you'll be my student for very long. Tate: Why not? He turns and looks at Barlowe. You dying or something? Barlowe: I think that much is obvious, but it's besides the point. He clears his throat. Morganstern is keeping you here against your will, and with it's unstable, detereorating, mental faculties, there's no telling what it will do to you if you continue under its tutelage. The safest thing you can do is leave, which I will aim to help you in accomplishing. Tate: Why don't you come with me? He lowers the chakram and looks to the old man. Barlowe: He lets out a wheezing laugh. I don't think so. I'm not very mobile. I'd only slow you and your friends down. Tate: There's a town, in the forest where I was before I was brought here. Forlorin, I think it was. You can stay there. Maybe even link with the fire like I did. it healed my friend. He shrugs. Maybe it can help you. Barlowe: Only those still full of youth can link to the flame. He slouches in his chair. Enough of this nonsense. He motions to the knight statue across the room. You're here to learn how to fight, not to worry about some withered old man you just met, now take a few throws with that ring. He wheezes and pulls himself up to sit more upright. Getting the hang of it should be fairly easy, but mastering it might take you some time. He motions to the knight again. Tate: He raises the weapon and brings it back, then throws it like he would a frisby aiming for the knight. The Chakram lets out a quiet singing as it flies through the air, like the sound a sword makes in a movie when it's swung. It seems to sway in its path, even though Tate's throw wasn't perfectly accurate, it flies true and clangs against the statue's upper chest, bouncing off and returning to Tate, landing harmlessly in his waiting hand. Barlowe: Though the chakram changes its trajectory in an attempt to reach your intended, a moving target will be harder to hit. Tate: So it's homing? He looks it over. That's awesome. Barlowe: There's even more to it than that. It's also a catalyst, and can be used to cast advanced spells. He clears his throat a little. More importantly is is aligned to the Deep. Something that might fit you. Tate: The Deep? He looks from the chakram to the old man. What's the Deep? Like deep water? Barlowe: It is water that lay so far below the surface that it has never been touched by the sun. You said your sister suffused Shadow and Fire in her combat magic. I sense in you a similar union... He looks to the knight. Dark magic is beyond humanity's reckoning... Of all the schools of magic it is the least understood. He looks back to Tate. Tate: So I'm affiliated with evil magic then? Like the Dark Arts or Black Magic? Is that what you're trying to tell me? He shrugs a little. Barlowe: I knew a student that, like you, had an affinity for the dark... His eyes glaze over as he remembers those distant days. Men fear what cannot be understood, and many here feared him... But when the dying world took its toll on the people of his kingdom, it was only he that held the courage to stand against the settling doom and prevent it... He was hailed a hero... But he left without accepting lordship or accolades, to wander the kingdoms of old and seek out an understanding of ever deeper darkness. He looks to Tate. So you see, dark can be used with benefit... But its path is lonely. To stand at the precipice of the abyss and walk its edge, one must take care not to fall... Tate: He thinks for a moment, about how this might be the same kind of magic that Leena practiced. How he's so close to becoming more like her. Could you me teach how to wield the Deep? He looks to Barlowe. Barlowe: The dark is a primal element. Only those that properly seek it out or have and affinity for it can know it, or bestow its knowledge onto another. Unfortunately I never had either of those, and so I would be unable to properly mentor you... He lets out a wheezing sigh and closes his eyes. But my feelings tell me that within you lay a great well of dark... It churns within the depths of your soul... Tate: ...Within my soul? He looks down. ...But how? Barlowe: He closes his eyes a little tighter, his bushy eyebrows furrowing in concentration. The loss of your sister has been difficult for you... The two of you rarely got along and yet... Still you were close... Family always is... Dwelling on loss pulls men apart, and sets them on paths that few understand... Or perhaps... That is not the only reason... Perhaps the dark has chosen you, and simply awaits your attention... I've heard it been said that the dark comes to find those that seek it... I have no doubts that it will seek you. Tate: You talk like it's some living thing that's going to hunt me down. He raises an eyebrow at the old man. Barlowe: Perhaps it is? ...The dark predates everything, even light... Who truely knows what great feats it is capable of...? He takes a long wheezing breath and lets out an equally long and weezing sigh, then he finally opens his eyes and looks to Tate. Let us move onto something else... We've not a great deal of time and you desire to learn a great deal. We need not waste the evening trying to ponder timeless mysteries... Tate: Umm... Alright. What's next then? He flips his chakram over in his hands a few times. Barlowe: Take out that libram I gave you. He clacks his cane on the floor and the walls and floor of the room transforms back into the library-armory that it looked like before. Barlowe's golem pushes him over to a tall thin wooden cabinet that looks like something from a modern day office, just made of burnished wood. He pulls out one of the drawers and there's thousands of old pages. Tate: So is this is just a notebook? Or is it magic? My sister had a big tome full of all kinds of crazy shit, but I couldn't understand or even read a lot of it. He sighs, thinking for a moment. I'm not even sure it was hers... Then one day it just... Vanished. Couldn't find it anywhere. She called it a "Book of Shadows". Barlowe: Book of Shadows? He thinks for a second. Sounds like early witchcraft or coven magic. The kind of old magic that founded the Aurelion Estate. He thinks for a moment, letting out a quiet wheeze. ...This is similar, in a way, but we've come a long way since those sorts of tomes. That libram there, He pulls two pages from the drawer. like everything else in this room, is enchanted. Write your name on the inside of the cover there, full name, and the book with bind to you. You transcribe a spell into it, or you put a page like one of these. He holds up the pages. You'll be able to perform that spell. Tate: Really? He looks from the book to Barlowe. So it makes it that easy? I just pop in a spell and I can use it. Barlowe: They require a certain affinity and an innate predilection towards their arcana. You can't just instantly gain the ability to cast anything, and you have the capacity for two of these pages at the most and the arcane know-how to start with the basics. At least for now. He turns and looks at Tate. To be honest I detest flashy spells. If one can learn something simply and quickly effective for combat, it's better than pouring over tomes for several lifetimes. He holds out the pages. Practicality was lost on many witches here. They were spoilt by the wide available knowledge. Tate: So what spells are you giving me? He smirks and takes the pages. Barlowe: First things first. His golem holds out an old fashioned quill pen, made from a blue feather. Inscribe your signiture there and we'll get started. Tate: He takes the quill. This isn't some kind of trick demon's contract is it? He opens the book and walks over to one of the display cases. Barlowe: I realize we just met a few hours ago. He wheezes slightly. But even Morganstern stays away from demons if it can, and that thing's a lot more powerful than I am. But I understand that I might not have your trust quite yet. But this is my next lesson and I won't hold you here against your will, so you may leave if you like. He looks at Tate expectantly. Tate: He shrugs. The price of power. He quickly signs his full name and turns around holding open the book for Barlowe to see. Barlowe: Tate Lawless? He looks up at Tate. That name isn't a title is it? Tate: Would it be a problem if it was? He raises an eyebrow at Barlowe. Barlowe: I suppose not. Keep the pen if you like... He sits up a little, having started to slouch. Tate: So what do I do with these? He holds up the pages. Barlowe: Put them into that book there, and they'll attach themselves its spine. After that you'll get a memory of already knowing how to cast the spell and the ability to cast it. Someone rips out the pages or you lose that book, you'll be unable to cast those spells again if you haven't memorized them. He clears his throat again, then coughs slightly. Now what you can also do is transcribe spells into the book that you've seen, effectively copying other magic for yourself. Anyway, you go ahead and put those two pages in there and we'll get started. Tate: He puts the pages into the book, and they just magentize right into it, sticking there like they've always been there. Tate suddenly has a flash of insight and the two spells just pop into his memory, like he's read those two pages he just put into the book a thousand times. Barlowe: The first spell is called Brine. Conjure a stream of high pressure salted water that quickly oxidizes most forms of armor. If you maintain the stream, then the salt quickly crystallizes, slowing or disabling opponents. A very useful spell that has a number of applications. The second spell is Flicker. It allows you to instantly translocate to any spot within twelve feet of your current position. He clacks his cane against the floor and the whirring of gears begins again as the room transforms back into a training arena. The marble knight is still standing in the spot it was before. He points to the statue with his cane. Cree-Sey! The statue suddenly moves, holding its sword and shield at the ready. You've been through the basics. Let's see how well you fair in combat.